


Ghost

by orphan_account



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Love/Hate, M/M, Post-Mark of Athena, Romance, ghostfire, leco - Freeform, leico - Freeform, lico - Freeform, valdangelo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo doesn't really know anything about Nico di Angelo. Hell, Nico doesn't even know who Leo Valdez is.<br/>Let's change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Your Usual Leo Valdez

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys and girls! This is actually my first Valdangelo fic, and I apologize in advance if I fuck up in writing. English isn't my first language. This is post-Mark of Athena, set some time after Nico is rescued from Ephialtes and Otis. They will end up kissing and having not-so-detailed sex. There's swearing, but not really enough to warrant a 'Mature' rating. Just enough swearing for the average angsty son of Hephaestus.
> 
> Note: I do not own anything in this story. They are not my characters nor is the Percy Jackson universe mine to be played around with. Really, if it were mine, Valdangelo would be canon. I welcome any and all feedback.
> 
> Leo meets Nico - the regular Nico who has a scowl tattooed on his face, who wears an aviator jacket in hot weather - but Nico finds another Leo - a vulnerable, crying, and very un-Leo Leo. Nothing really exciting, just an introduction.

You have your first proper look at Nico di Angelo on the Argo II's deck.

He is thin, almost emaciated, and deathly pale like a ghost, with long black hair and dark bags under his even darker eyes. His eyes have this look of fathomless sorrow in them. Various bones - his elbows, collarbones, and ribcage - jut out of his body, his white skin like leather stretched thinly over them. He wears a torn and scratched dark brown aviator jacket, a black shirt with skull designs and claw scratches on it, dirty and gashed black pants, and muddy black Chucks, slightly burnt on the edges of the sole. He look like he's walked through hell to get to this place. You take too long to realize that he has.

You hold out your hand, all formal and shit, introduce yourself. "Leo Valdez," you say, your voice taking on a lighthearted tone, and he takes your warm hand in his cold one for a and for a fraction of a second you feel the tiniest spark in them but then he lets it go without a word. Silence. You smile at him to bridge the stupid silent gap he'd made but he only scowls at you like it's your fault Percy and Annabeth fell into Tartarus. Considering the deal you'd made with Nemesis, you know he's right, but that doesn't wipe the shit-eating grin off your face because Leo Valdez wasn't allowed to be sad. He was a smiling, pranking buffoon who'd never had a sad day in his life - ever.

The five of the prophecy plus Nico and Coach Hedge hold a meeting in the mess hall. Everyone except you and Nico is crying. Piper's leaning on Jason's shoulder, both of them shivering like they'd been plunged in icy water and Hazel's sobbing desperately beside Frank, who is wailing louder than the three of them. Coach Hedge's crying like there's no tomorrow - and if the Doors aren't closed and Gaea wakes, you have a sneaking suspicion that'll become true. "Of course, we can hope they live," Piper says between hiccups. "They're g-going to try their best t-to close the D-doors, right?"

"Y-yeah," Hazel stammers, gold eyes tinged red. "They're our best - Percy and Annabeth. If they can't do it, no one will be able to." On that optimistic note, a whole new chorus of crying and wailing and sobbing ensues. You look at Nico, who is struggling not to cry, who winces every time Percy was mentioned. It's a strange tic but you let the topic go. He is muttering something that sounds like 'all my fault...' and then he glares at you coldly, like he were a cobra and you were a rat. You try to smile but your mouth is oddly paralyzed; you lose your battle with the emotions inside you and you end up crying instead.

Crying and crying and crying. This continues for about ten more minutes until you hear Jason sloppily wipe his nose on the stained purple sleeve of his Camp Jupiter shirt and motion for everyone to stop - at least for ten minutes. "Well, we can't f-fail them now." Jason manages to spit out all the words without breaking down completely; how he did, you don't know. "We'll set sail immediately after we're d-done here," he says. "Who volunteers for first watch?"

Your hand doesn't shoot up immediately because you're still in some kind of trance. The first of August (what was it called again? The Feast of Spaz? Oh, Spes. Okay.) draws nearer and nearer and they've just lost the two most experienced heroes on the ship. You feel the tears starting to well up again so you force them down before looking up to see who's volunteered for first watch. Jason, Piper, Frank, and Hedge have their hands up. The four of them get up and leave the mess hall. Nico still looks sullen, even more depressed than ever, and before you know it, you find yourself sitting at his left side, having - or at least trying - to have a conversation with him.

"So," you say shakily. "Percy" - you see him wince at his name -"and Annabeth. What do you think'll become of them?" You force yourself to smile thoughtfully. "I think they'll survive Tartarus." Another flinch at the mention of Tartarus.

"I think you'd better fuck off," he mutters silently under his breath, voice dripping with the characteristic Nico di Angelo bitterness and cynicism. He looks at you ruefully, his dark eyes looking as if they belonged to someone a thousand years older than he was.

"Hey, don't be too hard on me, man. I'm a concerned citizen, too." You reach out to pat him on the shoulder - the poor kid probably just needed a hug and a warm cup of hot chocolate - but he swats it away with his left hand. You look at his dark eyes, stunned, partially because he moved faster than you expected and partially because he hit your hand really, really forcefully and the "thwack!" it made upon impact still resonates in your head.

"Don't touch me." His voice sounds rough and broken like bits of broken glass. "Don't - ever - touch - me." He pauses between each word for effect, and you are shaking like you were left outside in a blizzard. He stands up abruptly and leaves but instead of heading towards the portion of the ship which held an extra room, he made his way to the other side of the ship - towards Percy's, Frank's, and Jason's rooms. Hazel glares gold daggers at you as if it were your fault Nico had an episode or something. She follows him into the dark corridor and disappears from sight.

And then you're left all alone in the mess hall. Not even a single "Hey, it's okay," or a "You'll be fine." Nope, none of those for you, Leo Valdez, eternal seventh wheel and lonely boy extraordinaire. Because once everybody's left and all you can hear is their steps up above and the familiar sound of crying, you break down, too. You bury your face in your grimy hands and sob like a baby because it feels good, so good that for a moment you forget that Percy and Annabeth are gone and that everybody hates you. You feel your tears escape the gaps between your long bony fingers and hit your denim-covered lap. You hear flames cough into life and sputter when hit by tears, but they matter as much as you do. You cry because it's all your fucking fault, because you made that stupid deal with Nemesis, because you ever had the guts to exist. You cry and cry, and then cry some more.

It's late into your emotional breakdown when you feel eyes watching you. You whip your head around and see Nico di Angelo looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face, somewhere between confusion and guilt with the tiniest hint of pity. You recognize that look because it's _that look_. It's the look the curious onlookers or orphanage staff give him after he's broken something, someone, or simply broken down. It's patronizing, curious, and shallow at the same time, and you can almost hear Nico murmur to himself, "What an amazing sight. Leo Valdez, crying." You feel rage building up inside you and it drives you to say, "Well? What are you looking at?" You say it with just the right amount of sarcasm and bitterness, and for a moment you see that the emotion in your voice shocks the stupid damn look off Nico's gaunt face. He looks like a regular boy caught red-handed for a fleeting moment but his expression shifts to his usual look - stony and guarded. He is also blushing furiously, for some reason. Red goes well with those dark eyes of his.

"Care to join the pity party?" You tell him, your voice icy and yet steely calm, shocking even yourself. "Will you just get away from me before I burn a hole right through your head?" You take a few steadying breaths and force your voice into the normal tone it usually has - but too late, Nico has already stammered an urgent sorry before running back to the direction from where he's come from. You sob a little bit more because you've probably lost the friendship of someone you were - and still are - so curious in and because he'd actually seen you crying, so vulnerable, and so un-Leo.

You finally get the strength to stand up and head towards the engine room, where you curl up on the bottom bunk of the bed you'd put in it. It is an exact replica of his bunk bed in Cabin Nine, and it feels so much like home that you start to cry again. The engine room hisses and vibrates and for a moment the smell of fuel permeates the room; you can hear Festus's sputtering and whirling cries but they're all comforting noises and smells and sensations. The engine room clears your mind enough for you to fall asleep.

You don't know why but your usual nightmares are replaced by dreams with Nico di Angelo in them. You can't decide if that's for better or worse.


	2. Swords, Pillows, and Pyromaniacs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's hear Nico's side of the same sad story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter is really just Nico's reaction to losing Percy and is kind of redundant in a way. I'll post the next chapter next week. As always, feedback is appreciated. 
> 
> I do not own Percy Jackson or any of the characters in this story. But I sure do wish I did.

The gleaming celestial bronze trireme hangs in the sky like a giant unmoving wasp. Its shiny body casts a ray of glare into your dark eyes and you shut your eyes really fast because you don't even know what light actually feels like anymore. Does it sting? How does it feel like? You look up at the bright blue sky which depresses you even more because you've just lost Percy and Annabeth and there's nothing you can do about it except pretend not to cry. Obviously Nico di Angelo doesn't know any emotion aside from resentment, bitterness, or anger. And you certainly don't cry because you're Nico and you're supposed to have a high pain tolerance, be it physical or emotional, because you are a child of Hades or something. You've heard those words come out of some dumb blonde Aphrodite kid's mouth back at Camp Half-Blood and you swear to the gods it took all your willpower at that moment not to let the ground swallow her.

That amount of willpower it took not to kill her is nothing compared to the amount of willpower you need now. You've tried your best to help Percy and Annabeth but you still failed because you are so much of a failure that everyone you love is trying to leave you. Your mom, your sister, and now even Percy - the closest thing you've ever had to romantic love - they all left, and they aren't coming back. You've held out in the stupid fucking jar for everyone you love just to stumble and lose your breath when your friends needed your help the most.

You don't think the day could get any worse but then you meet Leo Valdez, who you don't even know until he introduces himself.

It turns out Leo is this kid with elfin features, dark and curly brown hair, a slim build, and dark brown eyes, the color of his usual morning coffee. He wears a white shirt stained by soot, dust, and oil, red suspenders, brown skinny-fit jeans, and brown leather combat boots. The smell of motor oil, smoke, and cinnamon follows him wherever he goes. He smiles at you politely, scaring you a bit with how wide his mouth stretches, at how shiny his dark brown eyes are under his thick eyelashes, at how easygoing and carefree he seems to appear. You scowl at him for being too happy and jittery; obscenely happy people make you want to puke.

They - the five of the prophecy and the satyr, Coach Hedge - have been kind enough to let me join their little group meetings in the mess hall. The stupid mess hall had these live images of Camp Half-Blood - the waves at the lake, the dryads blending into their trees, the sprawling strawberry fields - all flash by like summer vacation advertisements. The people in the mess hall are another thing; Jason, Piper, Frank, Hazel, and Coach Hedge are crying and shaking and shivering, contrasting sharply against the saccharine images on the walls. You look at Leo the happy weirdo and are not shocked when he isn't crying like his life depended on the tears. He's looking at you thoughtfully, too, and you don't notice that you're basically muttering angrily at him and slightly shivering for a split-second whenever Percy is mentioned until it's too late. So you shoot him a stiff and icy look and he looks away and starts crying. About time, too.

Jason starts talking and everyone stops crying for a moment. He says something encouraging or maybe something not so encouraging because then sniffles and blowing noises are heard from the otherwise silent crowd. Some hands - you think the usual hands - shoot up to volunteer for some infinitesimal task. It doesn't matter. Percy is gone and the pain is getting too close to unbearable. You're just floating, a silent spirit in the wind willing itself to be whisked away. But as much as you try to melt into the shadows, Leo fucking Valdez messes you up even more. He moves beside you, sitting at your left, and you can feel his warmth creeping up your fingertips. This boy radiates heat like some sort of tiny and irritating sun.

"So," he begins. "Percy" - you curse at yourself for involuntarily shivering yet again at the mention of his name - "and Annabeth. What do you think'll become of them?" He pauses briefly, assessing what to say to you like you. "I think they'll survive Tartarus." You flinch at the mention of that terrible and desolate place.

Quite truthfully, you don't even know what their chances are. They are probably injured from the fall, stumbling through a dark, dank, and sulphurous environment they'd never even considered possible to reach, and to top it off, completely without supplies or some kind of aid. It's really, really optimistic to even say they've got a chance and that saddens you even more. Another loss, another day - it's becoming fairly routine for you. But you don't have the strength to shred Leo's innocent heart into bits and pieces. So instead of telling him that the two won't probably survive another day, you tell him to fuck off.

He explains himself with a sheepish grin and then does the most unexpected thing ever - he actually reaches out and pats you on your left shoulder. Or at least, tried to pat you. You swat his bony and soot-stained right hand with your slender and pale left hand with an unexpected forcefulness; maybe it is because Leo's such an annoying and inconsiderate shithead optimist or maybe it's because you just feel so drained and useless that you need to take your angst out on someone or something and Leo's hand feels like the something you want to take your angst out on.

"Don't touch me." You pause for a moment, enjoying the silence only broken by your ragged breathing. A determined black fire is blazing in your eyes, but you push it down with the iciness and brittleness in your voice. "Don't - ever - touch - me."

You stand abruptly and find your feet carrying you towards Percy's room. How your feet know it is his, you don't know, but you thank your feet for all their wisdom and then think sadly to yourself that you would probably be better off killing yourself because you were talking to your non-sentient feet. You feel a tip-tap on your back and then you worry for a moment if it's Leo, because you wouldn't want to be caught dead heading to Percy's room, because they didn't know yet, but if it really were him, your secret -

"Oh," you say flatly, your heart slowing its frantic staccato rhythm. It's only Hazel, your half-sister. She's looking at you with a concerned look in her golden eyes, her mouth in a curious and slightly suspicious pout. "You can go run along now," you say with a fake happy note in your too-close-to-breaking voice. "I've got something to, uh... finish here."

"Of course you do," she says. "Your room's over there y'know. But I see you've got 'business'" - she waggles her index finger at this -"to finish here. It's okay, I won't judge." She laughs, a pure and clear and infectious sound, and for a moment you feel a slight tug at the corners of your lips. The tug loosens when you realize that she laughs the same way Bianca does - or did, whatever. Death comes with talking of a person in the past tense, you think, and then whatever strength you have leaves you. You force yourself out of your reverie to hear Hazel's broken sentence: "...him. He cares, okay?"

"What d'you say?" you ask her, but she's already turned and left you and in her wake you find a jewel in the unmistakable color of fire. No, wait, if you look at it at _just_ the right angle it took the color of the sea. And if you look even harder you find that it looks clear like the cloudless morning sky. You toss it away because you have another purpose, another score to settle and it didn't involve jewels of any sort.

You find the door to Percy's room ajar, like it's waiting for its inhabitant who'd never come back. You look at the desk, a clean and simple wooden desk littered with notes in the same rushed and slanted penmanship and pictures of Annabeth and him, smiling, laughing, goofing off, and generally just having a good time. The pictures make you sick to the stomach with jealousy and pain. 

You fall face-first into Percy's bed, which is draped in light blue and cream, and smells faintly of the ocean. It smells like him. You cry, cry, and cry because Bianca's happening all over again and just like the last time you are powerless to change anything. Bianca's leaving, Bianca's left. Oh, didn't I tell you? Bianca's dead. Bianca. Percy is Bianca all over again. They always leave. They never return. They never -

"I hate you." Your words cut into your thoughts. "I hate all of you."

And you start crying furiously again, attacking the pillows and bedsheets with your Stygian iron sword, which you'd come to call Zimia, almost smiling at the fact that no matter how hard you slashed and pierced and struck the pillows, they'd never get hurt or change. And then suddenly you feel cold because you know that you are Zimia and that Percy's and Bianca's fates are the pillows; no matter how hard you try, nothing will change. They'd die and leave you forever.

You finally stop crying and get up, out of the wretched bed, which now smells like salty tears instead of salty sea. With your deft and pale fingers, you arrange it to the best of your abilities, straightening out the creases and cleverly hiding the parts you've torn or clawed with your own bare hands. A final wistful look is cast in the direction of Percy and Annabeth's smiling faces and then you're creeping silently out of the door. 

The air feels weird, you decide in your head. It feels heavy with smoke and it's threatening to suffocate you if it gets any worse. The first thing that you notice is the smell of burning cloth, then you hear the hiss of extinguishment. You then hear a hiccup, a 'psssh' - the sound of fire coming to life - and a plip-plop on the Argo II's floorboards. The sounds are a combination of teardrops hitting the wooden floorboards, fire coughing into and hissing out of life, and hiccups, sniffles, and sharp inhales. There is a crying pyromaniac in the mess hall and you move forward silently to see who it is.

Surprise, surprise - it's Leo Valdez.


End file.
